'We got a few minutes,' Muskrat told Bubba. 'Let me go on and take care of him.'
Muskrat dried his hands and walked outside to the Escort. He opened the back door and popped the panel off as the young man scanned his surroundings.
'Bubba, how 'bout bringing me the wire strippers,' Muskrat said. 'You're lucky,' he told his young customer. 'It ain't the switch or the motor. You got a broke wire between the door and the jamb. All I gotta do is splice it. What's your name, by the way?'
'Smoke.'
'Now that's a new one,' Muskrat commented.
'What everybody calls me.' Smoke shrugged. 'Hope you get your problem taken care of,' he then said to Bubba. 'I'm new around here. People seem really nice.'
'It's the South,' Bubba bragged.
'I guess you're from here.'
'Couldn't be from anyplace else. In fact, I'm even more southern than I used to be.'
'How so?' Smoke asked with a smile that might have been interpreted as a faint sneer had Bubba paid attention.
'Born on Northside and moved to Southside.'
'Oh yeah? Where 'bouts?'
'Forest Hills. Over on Clarence,' said Bubba, who was flattered by the boy's interest and his respectful way of addressing him. 'Can't miss my house. The one with the coon dog in the pen. Half Shell. She barks nonstop and wouldn't hurt a flea.'
'Not much of a watchdog if she barks all the time,' Smoke said.
'You got that right.'
'You hunt with her?'
'Big into that,' Bubba said.
'Seems all us southern guys are big on guns.'
'You bet.'
Muskrat twisted the wires he'd stripped and was done.
'When I was your age,' Bubba said to Smoke, 'I started fixing things like this myself.'
'I'm not very mechanically inclined,' Smoke said.
'You can work on it, son.' Bubba beamed. 'Go out and get the proper tools, some books, and it's trial and error. Same with things around the house. You build your own deck and fix your own roof - hell, just the other day I bought a new garage door at Sears. Installed it myself 'No kidding,' Smoke said. 'Remote control and all?'
'You bet. Gives satisfaction money can't buy,' Bubba said.
'You must have quite a shop,' Smoke said.
'Had to add an addition to the garage. Everything from grove joint pliers to a DeVilbiss air compressor rated at 7.6 CFM at 40 PSI and 5.6 CFM at 90 to diagnostic tools like a Sunpro Sensor Probe so you can test manifold absolute pressure, mass air flow and vane air flow sensors.'
'Don't need shit like that, and neither do you, Bubba,' Muskrat let him know. 'At least I know how to use what I got.'
Muskrat replaced the door panel and got up. He climbed into the driver's seat, started the engine and tested the window. It hummed up.
'Smooth as silk,' he announced proudly, wiping his hands on his pants.
'Gee, thanks,' Smoke said. 'How much do I owe you?'
'The first time's on the house,' Muskrat said.
'Gee. Thanks a lot,' Smoke said.
'Hey, the Gun and Knife Show's coming in two weeks,'
Bubba suddenly remembered. 'Looking for a couple after-market clips, twenty rounds, for my new 92FS M9 Special Edition, finest military handgun in the world. Now that I gotta show you, Muskrat. Comes with pistol belt and holster, magazine pouch. Same thing used in Just Cause, Desert Storm, Desert Shield, Restore Hope, Joint Guard.'
'Do tell,' said Muskrat.
'I'm debating if I should've got the presentation case. Walnut, etched glass cover. And the walnut grips,' Bubba agonized.
'Wouldn't be as practical if you ever plan to shoot it.'
'I sure as hell do. Winchester 115-gram Silvertip high-power." 'How come you ain't in school?' Muskrat asked Smoke.
'Free period. In fact, I gotta get back.'
Muskrat waited until Smoke was in his car, driving off.
'You notice that boy's eyes?' Muskrat said. 'Looked like he'd been drinking.'
'As if you and I didn't at that age,' Bubba said. 'So what d'ya think? This urethane hard enough yet?'
'Should be. But don't get your hopes up.'
They used the air hose and spray bottle again. The leak was still there. Muskrat took his time studying the problem until he'd figured it out.
'You got a hairline crack in the roof line,' he said.
Chapter Six
Weed refused to read his story, causing Mrs. Grannis to doubt that he had written one. This disappointed her greatly, and the other students in the class did not know what to think. Weed had always been so eager, the little boy-wonder in art class. Now, suddenly, he was uncommunicative and uncooperative, and the more Mrs. Grannis pressed him, the more obstinate he got. Finally, he was rude.
'Why I did the fish is my business,' he said, reaching under his desk for his knapsack.
'You had an assignment, just like everyone else,' Mrs. Grannis said firmly.
'No one else did a fish.' Weed looked up at the clock.
That's all the more reason we want to hear about yours,' Mrs. Grannis answered.
'Come on, Weed.'
'Read it to us.'
'Hey, it's not fair. You heard ours.'
It was 1:48. Fifth period ended in three minutes. Mrs. Grannis felt terrible. Weed was impossible, sitting rigidly in his chair, head bent, as if he were about to be beaten.
His classmates shifted uncomfortably, waiting for the bell.
'Well,' Mrs. Grannis broke the silence. 'Tomorrow we start watercolors, and don't forget, we have a special program next period.'
Henry Hamilton was the star pitcher of the baseball team, and he hated any activity that kept him sitting past two in the afternoon. He made a face, slumped in his seat and sighed loudly. Eva Grecci did the same because she had an aching crush on Hamilton. Randy Weispfenning wasn't happy, either.
'We have two very important police officers who have been sent to Richmond by the National Institute of Justice,' Mrs. Grannis said. 'They have generously agreed to come today and talk with us.'
'About what?'
'Crime, I suppose,' Mrs. Grannis said.
'I'm sick of hearing about it.'
'Me, too. My mom won't even read the paper anymore.'
'My dad thinks I should start wearing a bulletproof vest to class.' Hamilton laughed, ducking when Weispfenning tried to cuff him.
That's not funny,' Mrs. Grannis said.
The bell rang. Everyone jumped up as if there was a fire.
'Off to see the wizzz-aarrrddd…" Hamilton sang and started skipping down an imagined Yellow Brick Road.
Eva Grecci laughed too hard.
'Weed,' Mrs. Grannis said. 'I need to see you for a minute.'
He sullenly shuffled up to her desk. The room emptied, leaving the two of them alone.
This is the first time you've not turned in an assignment,' she said softly.
He shrugged.
'Do you want to tell me why?'
'Because.' He shrugged again as tears smarted.
'That's not an answer, Weed.'
He blinked, looking away from her. Feelings boiled up in him. In an hour he was supposed to meet Smoke in the parking lot.
'I just didn't get around to it,' he said as he thought of the five-page story hiding inside his knapsack.
'I'm very surprised you didn't get around to it,' she measured her words.
Weed said nothing. He had spent half of Saturday writing four drafts of it before painstakingly making the final copy in black felt-tip ink, letters perfectly formed in the calligraphy that he had learned from a kit and then modified to his bold, funky, completely unique style. The second bell rang.
'We need to go on to the auditorium,' Mrs. Grannis said.
He felt her searching his face, looking for a clue. Weed knew she was hoping the faculty had not made a mistake advancing him to the outer limits of Godwin's art instruction.
'I don't want to listen to no cops,' Weed told her.
'Weed?' It wasn't negotiable. 'You're going to sit with me.'
Brazil parked his marked patrol car on the circle outside the high school's front entrance, and despite his constant complaining during the drive, felt happy to be here as he climbed out of the car and students milling about stared. It did not occur to Brazil that his tall, chiseled, uniformed presence was striking, that this might have something to do with the attention he so often got.